


The Cumstitution

by oranhe



Series: The 69th Amendment [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, Daddy Kink, Fisting, M/M, Micropenis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-18 21:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13108884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oranhe/pseuds/oranhe
Summary: John Watson-Trump's micropenis suddenly transforms into a completely unexpected surprise.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the prequel first: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5937274/chapters/13652971

_“Is sex dirty? Only when it's being done right.” - Mitt Romney_

John stared at the large strip club in front of him. He walked in and sat on a hard chair. A man in a rainbow leotard came over and sat on top of John.

“Hey there hottie,” he greeted while palming John's crotch.

“Fuuuuck,” John panted, already feeling horny. The man’s skilled fingers wove their way into his Gucci jeans, making John groan both from anticipation and the fact that his poor 3,500 dollar jeans were being treated so poorly.

The rainbow leotard wearing man suddenly ripped off John’s jeans, immediately grabbing his My Little Pony boxers and tearing them in half. John stared dejectedly at the broken, torn up face of Pinkie Pie with only a small ounce of regret. He always liked Fluttershy the most, anyway.

“Are you ready for the time of your life,” asked the man seductively. He hadn’t looked down at John’s exposed crotch yet.

“Oh hell yeah baby,” said John. “It’s been such a long day in the office. I tried for 3 hours to compose the perfect Tweet but got so horny thinking about my secretary down the hall.”

“Tell me more,” whispered the man heavily, his breath tickling John’s neck.

“It took all I had to not start touching myself,” continued John. “I’ve waited so long all day.”

“That’s what I’m here for baby,” said the man as he lowered his round buttocks onto John’s rock hard dick.

“Hhhhhnnnnnnng. Ugh yeah fuck me like that baby,” moaned John. The silky fabric of the man’s underwear felt so good on his raw cock, which was glistening in a thick film of precum.

“Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! I love you baby,” said John.

The man smiled, and looked down at John’s pleasure area. “Wait… where is your dick?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“Oh. I have...a micropenis,” sighed John. “But let’s not talk about that right now please. I didn’t pay for the most talented person in this club to not have a good time!” 

The man nodded in understanding and continued to mash his silky crotch into John’s. John had gotten soft when the man had pointed out his micropenis, but quickly became hard again in an instant. He could feel his pulse rise in his dick as his heartbeat matched the rhythm of the man’s thrusting. 

“Make love to me baby,” panted John, who was soaking wet. “I want you in my love hole.” He was so hard he felt like he was going to die.

“I’m not allowed to do that dear,” said the man. Sensing John’s disappointment, he added, “but I’ll make sure you don’t need that to get excited tonight…” and doubled his pace of trusting.

“Guygahyah!!” cried out John. The friction was too much. He could feel the corners of his vision turning white. And suddenly that wasn’t the only thing that was white, as he felt his milky love juice stick on his thighs. 

The man expertly removed himself before it could get on him. “I’ve never seen someone cum so much before,” he said, self-congratulatingly. 

“Ugh...I’m not done...come back,” heaved John, as another wave of pleasure overtook his body and his micropenis began guzzling cum like a firehose putting out a burning blaze. 

All of a sudden the door to the club opened, indicating another patron. “Sorry boy, your time is over. Gotta entertain another one now,” said the man with an audible wink. He glanced over to the stranger. “Welcome! Can I help you today?”

The stranger froze in his tracks. “What on earth!?!? John!?!?!!!?!!?!??!?!?!!?!?!” he exclaimed.

John, whose vision was still blurry, turned his head towards the door. “M...Mycroft!? Mr. President!?!?” 

“It’s me, not my dumbass brother you dumbass! I thought we were married! How could you do this to me!” screamed the stranger who was actually Sherlock who was on the verge of tears. 

“Oh my god baby! I’m so sorry--I can explain everything, but I’m still riding this delicious orgas--” and John couldn’t finish his sentence, because all his capabilities of speech were overtaken with a third wave orgasm so powerful it registered as a minor earthquake at the nearby seismology center. “NYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” roared John, as four quarts of semen exploded from his groin, landing on the man’s rainbow leotard, and his micropenis followed suite, flying off his crotch towards Sherlock, bouncing off Sherlock’s cheek, and landing in the man’s cocktail. Of course, since it was so small, no one noticed.

When John regained his senses, someone was shaking him gently on the shoulder. “John? John!” yelled Sherlock, with a hint of panic in his voice. 

“Sherlock…” said John, looking his husband in his icy grey eyes. “I’m so sorry. I was just so horny in the office today and I couldn’t wait for you to get out of work, so I made a stop here before I came home,” he started crying. “Please forgive me. I just needed to have sex so badly. And you’ve been so busy. I still love you so much. I just needed to beat my meat.”

“Oh John,” said Sherlock quietly. “I was afraid you wouldn’t love me anymore since I’m trying to stop your tax bill. I really think it’s a terrible scam,” sighed Sherlock Holmes-Sanders. 

“I love you and your sexy ass even if you think corporations aren’t people!” exclaimed John Watson-Trump. “We may disagree politically but our love is beyond that.”

The man put his face in his palm. “This is disgusting,” he said to himself. “I don’t get paid enough for this. I need he drink,” he said, picking up his cocktail and downing all of it. In his giant gulp he didn’t even notice he had ingested John’s micropenis.  
“Well, thank you again for your services,” said John, who still didn’t have any pants, extending a hand to the man’s. He looked him in the face for the first time. “Oh, hi Bill. I didn’t know you worked here!” John said, turning his handshake into a fist bump.

“Yeah, I’m trying to keep a low profile,” replied Bill Clinton. “Well, hope you and your husband sort it out at home,” he said amicably.

“Thanks!” replied John as he handed Bill a suitcase full of $100s. “Bye Bill!” John left with Sherlock.

“Bye John,” said Bill, but he was too distracted counting the money. Just how much did this guy have, and did it come through tax evasion!?

Suddenly, Bill felt a tingling in his crotch. _That’s weird _, he thought. He usually didn’t show any physiological reactions to clients. Carrying the suitcase with at least $25,000 with him, he made his way into the bathroom to check if everything was fine. What awaited when he unzipped his pants was the surprise of a lifetime. Where once Bill’s normal sized cock was, there was a mosquito-bite looking thing that resembled what was between John’s legs earlier. Bill Clinton had developed a micropenis.__

____

____

Bill fainted, dropping the briefcase into the toilet bowl.


	2. Chapter 2

_“‘I've often said there's nothing better for the inside of a man than the outside of a horse.’ -Pres. Reagan” - Mike Pence_

John and Sherlock returned to their mansion. Since marrying, Sherlock moved out of his $500,000 house into John’s three story penthouse with 16 rooms and 3 sex dungeons. John carefully unlaced and removed his Louis Vuitton shoes and stepped into his sherpa wool slippers as to not tarnish his hand scraped hardwood floors. “I’m so sorry about what happened baby,” said John, the second he was in appropriate homewear. “Let me make it up to you right now,” he said as he grabbed Sherlock’s crotch.

“What I love about you is that you don’t waste any time,” hummed Sherlock. “Which sex dungeon should it be tonight?” But it was hard for John to reply since Sherlock crammed his tongue down John’s throat.

“Mmhm fmmms,” he said.

Sherlock stopped kissing him. “Sorry?”

“Sorry, got a bit caught up in the moment. Let’s try the 221B(DSM) Sex Dungeon today,” said John, rapidly unzipping his pants.

“The game is on!” said Sherlock with much aplomb. 

Sherlock and John stood hand in hand at the entrance of 221B(DSM). “Um, Sherlock...I have a request,” said John shyly.

“What’s up, honey?” asked Sherlock while pressing a kiss on John’s palm.

“You...you always top. Can...can I try for once?” asked John, not making eye contact.

A twitch hit Sherlock and manifested straight in his cock. “Yeah Daddy,” he throbbed, unzipping his pants as well.

John looked like it was Christmas and he was about to get a pony. “All right!” he exclaimed, reaching for the handcuffs. He turned Sherlock on his back and cuffed his wrists together. “Get ready for a serving of Daddy’s big cock tonight,” he said.

“Sounds delicious,” replied Sherlock, who felt his member hard against the fabric of his cotton boxers. John pulled them down swiftly and kissed Sherlock’s butt cheeks as he pulled down his own new pair of Burberry boxers with his initials (JHWT) embroidered in them. 

John suddenly realized something was off. He was really horny looking forward to serving Sherlock’s ass a piece of his cock, but he didn’t feel the usual warmth in his groin. He looked down and couldn’t see anything, which wasn’t out of the ordinary. Instead he reached out and patted around the area where his micropenis usually was. He only felt his nuts. 

“Uh...Sherlock…”

“Yes, Daddy?” replied Sherlock, oblivious to John’s deepening dread.

“I think I lost my dick.”

“What?”

“I don’t think I have a dick anymore.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It must have been at the strip club. With Bill.”

At the mention of Bill Clinton Sherlock lost his erection entirely. “Uncuff me so I can have a look,” he said, his bare ass and limp dick still in the air. John did as he was told. 

Sherlock turned around and put his face near John’s crotch like he was about to give him a blowjob, but he was searching for the dick to suck instead. “This is bad, John. Normally nothing escapes my eyes, but your dick has managed to. Maybe we should go see your doctor.”

John pulled up his Burberry boxers. The last time he felt this embarrassed was when he tweeted a picture of his crusty micropenis instead of flaming Sherlock like he had intended on. But at least back then he had 0.5cm. 0.5cm was better than 0cm.

“Okay, we can go in my 2,000 meter private jet,” said John, as he texted his doctor to alert him that he was on the way.

\---

“Tell me it from the beginning,” said The Doctor. “Of when it happened, I mean, I’m a very busy man.” 

“Well, I was feeling really horny at work, because I kept on thinking about my secretary’s titties, and how great it would be to grab--”

“John had sex with Bill Clinton in a strip club and spread a lot of his seed,” interrupted Sherlock.

“Bill Clinton is still relevant?” asked The Doctor, who then realized he was asking the wrong question. “How many times did you cum?”

“Uhh, three,” answered John. He thought back to a few hours ago. “The third one was particularly strong. That was when Sherlock walked in.” 

“You came three times without me!?” exclaimed Sherlock.

“Can we all please focus on the problem at hand!?” yelled John.

The Doctor reached for some equipment John had never seen before. “It’s a microscope lens for work at the cellular level,” explained Sherlock. The Doctor held it up to John’s crotch and scanned around.

“Well, I have good news and bad news,” said The Doctor after he had explored John’s groin for a while. “The good news is that your penis did not shrink from 0.5cm as was its size at the time of your last appointment. The bad news is that, indeed, it seems to have disappeared.”  
“I already knew that!” cried out John. “I’m here to get answers as to why!”

“How much semen was there during the final orgasm?” asked The Doctor.

“A little more than five gallons,” answered Sherlock. “Some got on Bill Clinton’s leotard.”

“My lord, five gallons!?” screamed The Doctor, aghast. “That’s how much those standard office water jugs are! I didn’t know the human body could produce so much sperm!” 

“I was quite shaken up,” added John.

“And I’m shook,” said The Doctor. “Wait, I have a hunch as to why your dick disappeared. How long did the orgasm last?”

“Uh...maybe 15 seconds?” said John meekly.

“That’s over 5 cups of sperm a second, through a tiny opening! Think about it, John. You try to run something that pressurized through a sink, of course the faucet’s gonna blow.”

“What you’re saying is...my dick didn’t disappear, it exploded?”

“Yes, John. It’s simple physics.”

“Can you give me a new one?! A bigger one!? I was just going to dominate Sherlock,” John pleaded. “Sexually, I mean,” he clarified.

The Doctor thought for a bit. “I do know an expert surgeon. But he’s not cheap…”

“I live in a penthouse mansion with 3 stories, 16 rooms and 3 sex dungeons! I have money,” said John. 

“He chargers $1 trillion per inch,” said The Doctor with his eyes closed, as if he were afraid of John’s reaction. “It’s ludicrous, I know, but supply and demand. There’s a lot of demand, and he’s the best there is out there.”

“Well, you have enough for 0.5cm again,” said Sherlock. He managed their joint bank account.

“No. You’re going to take Daddy’s big cock. It’s time for a Gofundme,” said John with a flair of determination Sherlock had never seen before.


	3. Chapter 3

_“There is nothing better in life than a big, fat dick.” - Donald Trump_

“I think this is a matter we should have a conversation about,” said John to Sherlock. They were back home in the master bedroom of John’s 16 room mansion. John was referring to the size of his new cock. “I did some research online and the man with the biggest penis is miserable.”

“Really,” said Sherlock, who was busy reading proposed legislation.

“Yeah! It’s unbelievable, right! 19 inches, what do you have to be worried about!?” asked John rhetorically.

“Chafing, UTIs, immobilization,” answered Sherlock while turning a page.

John ignored him. “I figured, why not just round up? 20 inches. $20 trillion wouldn’t be that hard to raise, would it? If everyone donated a reasonable 20 grand, we’d just need a few thousand donations.”

Sherlock put down the bill he was reading. “Listen, John...I am not confident in my ability to fit 20 inches of your juicy man meat up my anal track. And, to be honest, I am scared that it would hurt.”

John looked more hurt than Sherlock’s butthole would ever feel. “Oh...I guess...I wasn’t thinking of that.” He paused. “What...what do you think you can take?” 

“How about 12 inches? Twice the length of an average man’s, it would still put you in the top 1% of largest shlongs, but be probabilistically less likely to cause infection or pain,” suggested Sherlock. “Also, we would save $8 trillion.” 

“Okay,” said John, who knew Sherlock was being reasonable but still felt a pang of regret in his heart and scrotum. “I’ll go set up the fundraiser,” and he went off to his computer, typing one letter at a time since John only typed with two fingers.

\--

New Horizons for John Watson-Trump

$0 of $12,000,000,000,000 goal

Hello. You may know me as John Watson-Trump, proud Republican and billionaire. It’s been a long journey of self discovery for me but I’m finally ready to share my story. As many of you may know in the 2016 elections, I indeed had a micropenis. I am no longer ashamed to admit it. However, earlier today I lost my micropenis. It exploded when I ejaculated 5 gallons of semen after receiving a lap dance from Bill Clinton. The purpose of this fundraiser is to surgically get me a new penis. The target is $12 trillion because my Doctor has recommended me to the best surgeon who charges $1 trillion per inch, and after discussing it with my husband Sherlock Holmes-Sanders, we decided a 12 inch cock was the best for me. (Even if I would like 20 inches.) It is an important medical expense and the future of our country depends on it.

God bless America

\- John

After carefully choosing his words, John hit publish. Then he waited. Then he waited some more.

“Sherlock, no one has donated yet,” he said.

“Have you tried tweeting it?” suggested Sherlock. John tweeted it. A few seconds later, he refreshed the page. “I got $10!!!” he exclaimed excitedly, despite the progress bar not changing since $10 was only 0.000000000083% of his goal.

John waited some more.

He still had $10.

Then he had a brilliant idea! John was going to donate $1 million of his own money to make the campaign seem like it had more traction. “Dear John, I wish the best for a speedy procedure and a massive cock that I know you deserve,” he wrote as a note, and confirmed his donation. 

Excited to show off his genius plan, John hurried back to Sherlock. “Look, I donated $1 million, so the progress bar has more green on it!” he said, handing his laptop to Sherlock. 

“John, you forgot to make this donation anonymous. ‘Dear John, I wish the best for a speedy procedure and a massive cock that I know you deserve. $1 million, from John Watson-Trump.’ Also, you know that Gofundme takes a 2.9% cut of every donation as part of their service fee?”

“They’re taking my money!?” cried John in outrage. “Damn those socialist commies! I’m going to sue them!”

“Actually, speaking of lawsuits, you should take a look at this letter,” said Sherlock, handing him a heavy envelope. John opened it and found a message from Bill Clinton, printed on fancy cardstock with a bunch of complicated words.

“Sherlock, what does this mean?” asked John, who thought the formal thank you of his patronage was unnecessary but was touched by the gesture.

“Bill Clinton has suddenly developed a micropenis and he says it’s your fault. He’s saying when your dick exploded, you transferred your micropenis to him. Anyway, he’s suing you for $10 trillion. The court date is in a week.”

Sherlock thought John was going to be pissed, or worried, or throw a tantrum, but he was none of those. John was elated. “That’s almost how much I need to raise for a new dick!! If we win the lawsuit, that takes care of our problems!”

“How are you going to win? And what about the last $2 trillion?” asked Sherlock, the pragmatist. 

But John had another genius plan--for real, this time. He was already on the phone with his old friend, George W. Bush.  
\--

The next day, John and Sherlock stepped into Bush’s greenhouses. “The harvest this year has really been plentiful,” said Bush. Rows and rows of marijuana plants surrounded them on all sides, some so tall they were pressing against the glass ceiling. 

“So we can really sell this?” asked John, hopeful.

“Yeeep,” replied Bush. “Can’t smoke all of this by myself, even if I tried. Good luck with the operation boys,” he said, taking a drag from his smart vape which also let him play Pacman. “I was surprised you were using Gofundme at first, but I’m glad you’re doing an honest man’s work now and making your own for a new dick.” 

“Well, it’s your weed,” said Sherlock. “We appreciate it, George W. Bush.” 

\--

_5 Days Later_

John finished counting the last stack of $100 bills. He and Sherlock were in Bush’s living room, surrounded by briefcases full of money they made by selling Bush’s marijuana. “I think that’s it! We really did it, Sherlock! I can’t believe we sold $2 trillion of weed to Google employees while they were at Burning Man! I’m so happy!”

“Don’t get your hopes up yet, John,” said Sherlock. “Our court case is in an hour. We should get going if we don’t want to be late.”

“Oh, right!” replied John. He had forgotten about the case in his excitement and newfound drug dealer wealth. “Well, I want to look my best, so I’m going to change into a suit and then we can take my jet.”

“Can your jet fit all these briefcases?” asked Sherlock.

“Oh, let’s not bother, I don’t want to make us late. I’m sure they’ll be safe in Bush’s house,” answered John, and proceeded to head to the bathroom. The real reason he went to the bathroom was because he hadn’t nutted in almost a week. He felt like if he wasn’t going to cum soon, he was going to die. He got really horny thinking about the new foot long cock that would soon be his, that soon would be inside Sherlock’s sweet asshole. The thought of Sherlock stretched wide and full of 4 liters of his cum. Before, his micropenis was too small to properly breach Sherlock’s anal cavity when he topped, but that would no longer be the issue. God, he was so horny. He tweaked his nipples as he took off his sweat-drenched shirt before he replaced it with the $1,000 clean undershirt for his $10,000 suit. He was ready to win a monster cock.


	4. Chapter 4

_“When humans colonize Mars, I will make yaoi the new religion.” - Elon Musk_

John and Sherlock walked into the courthouse together. Upon seeing their arrival, the judge, whose hair was half white and half red, let out a big sigh. “Do you have any respect for the legal system?” he bitingly spat at them, but it was obviously meant rhetorically because he immediately raised his voice to address the crowd. “Settle down everyone. Our defendant is finally here. We shall now begin the legal proceedings for ‘Clinton v. Watson-Trump: Micropenis.’ Are both parties ready?” He turned towards John.

“Ready on behalf of Mr. Clinton, your honor,” replied Mycroft, who was seated across the courtroom.

“What’s Mycroft doing here!?” whispered John to Sherlock.

“He’s Bill’s lawyer,” answered Sherlock. “John, you should answer the judge.”

“Oh! Right! Um, uh, yes, your highness,” said John, slightly flustered. He had never done this before.

As the clerk was swearing in the jury, a flustered looking green-haired boy burst through the doors. “Shouchan~! You forgot your lunch--” he stopped, shrunk his body and turned a shade of red John had never seen before, immediately realizing he was interrupting something important. “Oh, gomennasai, boku wa didn’t--” but the boy stopped talking again, as if he just realized apologizing would make it worse.

“Arigatou, Izuku. I’ll see you at home,” said the judge curtly, but with a slight smile on his face. “Anyway, may the first witness take the podium?” At this cue, Bill Clinton stepped up. “Do you promise that the testimony you shall give in the case before this court shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“I do,” replied Bill. He took a deep breath. “It all began when I was working an afternoon shift at my part-time job as a lap dancer.” There were some gasps from the jury at this revelation, but Bill paid them no mind. “I was giving a lap dance to Mister John Watson-Trump when, in response to my expert services, he started ejaculating. After he was finished for the third time, he gave me a briefcase full of money, and he and his husband left.

“And when did you discover you had a micropenis?” asked the judge.

“A few minutes after they stepped out of the club, I noticed a strange tingling in my crotch which I went to check on. That’s when I saw it,” said Bill.

“And just how long is your new penis?”

“0.5cm,” replied Bill.

“And how long is it when erect?”

“It...doesn’t get erect anymore. I seem to have also developed erectile dysfunction,” said Bill, quietly. There were more hushed whispers from the crowd.

“Now, wait a second,” said John. “That was quite the tragic story, but I’m the real tragedy here. While Bill Clinton has 0.5cm, I have nothing. Please donate to my Gofundme at https colon slash slash Gofundme dot com slash John dash Watson dash Trump dash Monstercock dash support dash fund.”

Upon hearing the word monster cock, Sherlock felt a twitch in his groin. He had been depriving himself all these years with John, and at the prospect of winning this court case, felt a monster cock of his own develop in his pants. 

“Mr. Watson-Trump, it is not your turn to speak. Please do not talk out of line,” said the judge. Turning to Bill’s lawyer, he asked, “So why does the persecution believe Mr. Watson-Trump is at fault?”

“The evidence is obvious,” said Mycroft. “Based on a series of elementary deductions, it is clear that…” but Sherlock was no longer listening. _I hate it when he opens his mouth. The imbecile_ , thought Sherlock. He reached over to John and shoved his hand underneath John’s ass and started wiggling his fingers, trying to bore a hole in John’s $50,000 trousers to touch some of his sweet cheeks.

“Sherlock! What are you doing!” whisper-screamed John.

“Baby...I just...keep on thinking about that monster cock of yours,” purred Sherlock. “I’m so excited for your dick, Daddy."

John found himself turned on too. “Oh, yeah, baby, you’re gonna take it so hard. We’re gonna spend so many hours in 221B(DSM), my favorite sex dungeon. Yeah baby! Yeah!!” he reached out and started shoving his tongue down Sherlock’s throat, pressing kisses down his neck. He unbuttoned Sherlock’s shirt with great enthusiasm and bit his nipples.

“Yow!!!!” screamed Sherlock. “Baby, be more gentle.”

“But you got me so nasty and horny,” said John.

“Excuse me,” said the judge. “There is no copulation allowed in the courtroom.”

“I believe, your honor, that violation of rules results in an automatic loss for the guilty party,” said Mycroft. He had no idea (there was nothing about sex in the courtroom in his textbooks), but he said it confidently, and usually that worked.

“You are correct,” said the judge. He was also unsure, but he wanted this case to end as soon as possible. He was very in love with the green-haired boy who came in earlier and was getting a little bit horny himself, so he wanted to see him. “Based on your incredible evidence, I believe the jury has all the reason to find Mr. Watson-Trump guilty of this crime, but there is no need to vote. Because Mr. Watson-Trump has violated the law of the high court, I pronounce him guilty.”

The verdict fell deaf to Sherlock and John’s ears; at this point, Sherlock almost had John’s Burberry briefs off of him and was about to stick his fist in his ass. 

“Well, I’m going to lunch,” muttered the judge. “The court is dismissed. Mr. Watson-Trump, please be sure to pay the plaintiff the $10 trillion as requested after your husband is done fisting you.” 

The same green-haired boy from before burst into the courtroom again. “Shouchannnnn~~~~~~~~~ Are you finished with your case yet? Boku wa very hungry desu!”

“Hai, perfect timing Izuku. Let’s itadakimasu,” said the judge, walking out of his post.

“Wait! A kiss for my dokidoki,” asked Izuku, very politely. Shouto smiled at the request of his lover, and gently pressed their lips together. He took Izuku’s hand in his as they walked out to enjoy the lunch Izuku had made them both.

Bill walked up to Sherlock and John. John didn’t have any pants on and Sherlock’s hand was about to enter his ass. “So, I know $10 trillions a lot,” he said, cautiously.

“Yeah, we can discuss how you’ll pay us in a sec. We’re busy,” said Sherlock.

“Dear brother, that sense of perception of yours has only been weakened with your association with Mr. Watson-Trump. It is you who shall be paying Mr. Clinton,” said Mycroft smugly. 

At the sound of Mycroft’s voice Sherlock’s dick shriveled. “What? Judge--” but he noticed the judge was gone, as was the jury. In fact, the courtroom was empty--after John’s Twitter scandal, he was viewed as a public sex offender and no one wanted to be near him. 

John came to his senses (he can’t cum because he doesn’t have a dick). “You’re saying...we lost?” 

“I’m afraid that’s the case for you,” confirmed Mycroft.

“Well, at least we have the $2 trillion we made from selling weed,” said John. “I’ll call George and tell him to bring the suitcases.” He got out his iPhone X. “Hi George, can you come to the courthouse with the money?” asked John. “What do you mean you can’t? Are there too many? I can ask my house cleaners--what do you mean there’s no more money? You spent it on diamond encrusted single edition My Little Pony collectible figurines!!?!?” John dropped his phone which shattered into a thousand pieces, like his heart.

“Sherlock...George W. Bush spent all the money we made selling weed on My Little Pony figurines. He said it was his weed originally, so it was his money. What are we going to do?” John started sobbing.

“Don’t cry, John,” said Bill. “We can work something out, I’m sure.”

John and Sherlock weren’t even excited at the prospect of John’s monster cock anymore. They had even bigger problems. How were they going to pay Bill Clinton 10 trillion dollars?


End file.
